Reminiscence
by Sayloni
Summary: He was supposed to remember it, that touch, the feeling of those lips, that heat every time their eyes held gazes. Falling for someone destined to be God's chosen one was an atrocious felony, one that Koizumi seemed too naive to discontinue committing. Alas, it was meant to always end the same way... Set during "The Endless Eight" arch, with a damageable amount of Kyon x Koizumi.


Author's Note:

Rather quick, no?

Che, you guys must be wondering why she is being so nice these days, updating stuff and replying to messages while publishing new stories one after another…

She has a heart and feels bad for neglecting people too, you know?

Anyway, Sayloni remembers how much positive feedback she had had when she portrayed Kyon as domineering (remember "Entangled"? If not, check it out as early as possible) … it actually sounds a lot more perverted when she voices it out, though. Someone even said they would support Sayloni with their love for a submissive Koizumi! But she has to admit, thinking about it made Sayloni feel all fluttery and wrong inside, so of course she had to put pen to paper and justify the pairing this way.

This story, therefore, is especially dedicated to all those readers who find a subservient Koizumi appealing (which includes Sayloni herself ironically), and hence, their cup of tea.

It is a little common to use the 'Endless Eight' approach of all things, because she is sure many more writers must have attempted at it as well (she has read a fic or two, yes), but nothing else made it sound as fulfilling as this arch. Regardless, Sayloni hopes to have pleased you with her work.

Warning :

This fic contains boy x boy, not explicit, but she won't advice people with no taste in this genre, or those who have probably never heard about it to go on reading. And, oh! Characters might appear a tad bit OOC, but she'll definitely try to work on them.

Disclaimer :

Sayloni doesn't own Haruhi or her eccentric SOS Brigade, or the series would have turned out even more messed up. All rights go to Tanigawa-Sensei and his amazing illustrator, Noizi Ito-sama, and a bunch of other mind-blowing people for the light novel, manga, anime, music and movie productions. Phew….-_- quite a lot of merchandise, eh?

\(~_~)/ Alright people, let's not be chatterboxes yet again and just read the story.

Hurry on!

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He doesn't know why it happens.

But one morning, he wakes up to a dull throbbing in his head. He is exhausted, disoriented, and with no apparent reason it seems. His eyes automatically go to the other side of the bed, as if expecting something there. He vaguely believes he's supposed to remember that something, perhaps even _someone_, but it gusts away with the breeze just before he can snatch it out of his mind.

It makes him wonder for a brief moment if he's sick.

As he moves towards the kitchen, his study seems odd. The table is moved to the side as if somebody has pushed it in a moment of delusion. He reassembles it, but cannot remember moving it last night.

Yet he cannot waste time pondering upon it for too long, because it is already past his waking time, and he has to be there at the station to greet Suzumiya-san like a good, responsible Vice Commander. It's agonizing to remember that this is all he will ever be, but he revels in the truth that he is doing the World well, albeit in an insignificant manner.

Like always, he's groomed and waving to the girl who marches towards them with all the solemnity of the world. When he opens his mouth, however, his throat seems sore, as if he has moaned the entire night before.

He is sure he hasn't, though.

The pale extra-terrestrial beside him, still in her sailor uniform despite a holiday, with a bag at her side, promptly rests her eyes on the approaching figure. He doesn't know, but for some reason, her gaze is wistful, jaded.

Pitying, even.

He tries not to muse over it.

Asahina-san reaches a mere half an hour before the specified time, looking timid and furtive in her own way, as if she's not comfortable with how things appear.

And when at last _he_ shows up, ten minutes early, dishevelled, sluggish, a bag flung carelessly across his shoulder, with a ridiculously casual shirt only half-way buttoned, the deep brown of his hair sticking out in all the odd places, he has that feeling again, as if something were trying to claw its way out of the back of his skull. The colour in those cheeks makes his own face flush a deep crimson. Suzumiya-san suddenly seems to adopt a buoyant disposition, but that becomes least of his qualms.

He doesn't know, but it's like he's supposed to be aware of something.

It makes him nearly wheeze.

The rest of the day is a blur of sweating, following unreasonable and utterly questionable demands, cycling and swimming. It is somewhat funny to see Kyon sprawled out on the ground, gulping down copious amounts of air that might burst his lungs any moment. Though he himself is panting a bit, it feels almost heavenly.

But then he senses those dark eyes on his own frame and it's enough to dissolve that light feeling.

The lost emotion engulfs him again.

Stripping down to his trunks is yet another horror. It somehow makes him feel exposed, makes him burn, causing the hair on his skin to rise and scald every time the other boy's gaze comes to rest on him. Consequently, merely sitting it out with him at his side does not make him feel any better, because there is always that ache at the back of his mind, and the longing to accomplish something he hasn't got a clue about.

And whenever he tries to strike up a conversation, or just responds to an inquiry, for causes unknown, his voice comes out sounding uneven.

Regardless, he talks with his same passion and the same airiness he is instructed to portray. Kyon seems to be annoyed by this, going to the length to shake his head and face palm even, and it makes him believe everything is fine and normal.

But then he scans his surrounding and his eyes land on the small, pale girl.

He watches Nagato-san regard the place around with recognition in her otherwise vacant gaze. A hint of emotion on her in itself is a worrying sign. Kids yell in the back drop, balls splash about the crowded area, but she seemingly remains oblivious to them. It's like she's been here for almost every summer of her prior life, as if she knows when the man behind her is going to push his friend playfully in her direction and exactly how many steps she has to move to avoid their collision, or when the kid in on the other side of the pool is going to crack his nose against the tiles so she can warn the other two girls to escape the waters before it actually happens... but then he remembers who she actually is and the phrasing sounds extremely absurd to even his own ears.

If he said it out loud, would the boy beside him scoff as well?

He has a strong feeling he would.

For a moment though, it seems the other, too, has some trouble regarding the current scenario, though what or how he feels is a mystery in itself. The firm stare at the Humanoid Interface reveals merely the tip of the ice berg. He expects a word about it, though, about how odd this is, about how wrong this is, about how familiar this all looks, keeps expecting it for minutes, hours.

But the boy does not voice it out.

When Suzumiya-san and Asahina-san jump into the pool, the throbbing in his head intensifies, and again he doesn't understand why. The boy beside him seems to get it though, but he still does not say anything.

Gradually, it becomes infuriating.

Just laying there while Kyon gawks at Asahina-san makes his head ache worse. He has the sudden urge to push the boy into the water and hold him there until his breathing gives way.

Yet whenever those scorching dark eyes come to rest on him again, his body goes into a frenzy and becomes too hot for him to keep his calm. He almost wishes they'd go back to the petite Time Traveller.

Finally, the hellish experience is over, and of course Suzumiya-san arranges one of her incongruous meetings at their obvious cafe. Kyon has to pay like usual, as per the ritual, as per his penalty, and this time when the boy looks over and his body mimics a hot oven, he does not have to give the excuse of forgetting his wallet at home.

He thinks a cup of iced tea does sound comforting at this instance.

When, however, the Brigade Chief announces her plans for the rest of the summer, he is not as surprised as he should be. Somehow, this seems even more alarming than the declaration itself and though highly reasonable, it makes his mind whir in another bizarre epiphany.

So he requests for the list that she has prepared.

And sure enough, the moment he lays eyes on her thought-up blunders, something in him clicks. It's vague, too vague, excruciatingly helpless if he says so himself, but there it is, that feeling again, growing ever so stronger with each letter he comprehends.

It doesn't help that the dark-haired boy is staring at him intently, most likely for a reaction that is fairly amusing to him.

He doesn't understand what that means, either.

"I see," he says simply at length and hands the paper back.

Kyon seems like he wants to know what it is that he understands, but today, he is afraid of being confronted about it. There is that feeling of keeping away from him that makes him ignore the stare, makes him pretend the leg pushing against him under the table is not actually something that exists.

Asahina-san says something about going goldfish scooping, and the foot finally recoils.

The meeting is dismissed, at long last, and the eccentric girl skulks outside. Something about the way her residing back disappears out the door and into the crowd of purposeful humans wandering the streets makes that pain in his head increasingly prominent.

Perhaps he's supposed to say something, but words fail him.

As one by one the others leave, the furrow in his forehead, so barely there that not even Asahina-san seems to be aware of it, begins to lighten. He almost wishes to sigh in relief.

But then he is there, the reason he has felt so tensed up these past few hours, why the air around them is suddenly so stressed, so suffocating, as if the boy knows something important and he, too, is supposed to remember that something but he just cannot bring himself to, because it just doesn't seem to subsist in his memories anymore.

Kyon gazes at him with curious eyes, and for a moment it feels like he's about to say something.

He doesn't though. The boy only mutter a listless, quiet farewell and climbs up on his bike, riding away with the awkwardness of a winged fish.

He doesn't know why, but over the next few days, it becomes more frequent.

There are instances when the feeling is so strong that he just wants to curl up into a ball and hush himself into an endless sleep, other times he's forced to believe that ignoring it will only put the World in a greater yet jeopardy.

But that is nothing compared to when the other boy looks at him.

It happens more and more as days pass.

One day, he meets him at the top of the school building due to a distress call, which is empty beyond belief.

The way those hooded eyes trace every movement of his body is almost agonizing. He never expected himself to be on the receiving end of such a gallant conduct. His fingers clench around the metallic net, almost white. It makes his heart beat wildly across his ribcage, threatening to burst out any minute and reduce his chest into a bloody, pounding mess.

The following hour, all they talk about is Haruhi Suzumiya.

He doesn't know why, but the ringing subsides in the tedium of this routine work.

"May be she has already created a new world, is that what you are saying, Koizumi?" He is questioned incredulously at one point, and he has to suppress a chuckle.

"It is only a suggestion."

"That is ridiculous."

"Perhaps," he says, a hint of a genuine smile beginning to grace his lips, and looks over at him, "But it'd be such a waste, to think that everything has changed and you don't even remember it changing, no?"

It takes a moment for the harmless inquisition to register.

As soon as the words leave his mouth, however, that pain is there once more; the familiar, unbearable battering of his cranium, like a thousand gong bells drumming on the inside of his skull. Strong, so strong that he has to bite his lip to keep himself from groaning with the severe consequences he suffers now.

"Koizumi, are you okay?"

Suddenly, a warm hand is on his, and he flinches away.

He's not startled, not uncomfortable of the friendly, and probably, concerned gesture the other shows him, but it feels intimate. Too intimate.

And above all, it feels known.

Has Kyon ever actually touched him in the past?

As he scurries out of the building and over the hill with all the energy he can muster, not even sparing the other boy a parting glance, his face, for causes unfathomable, is feverish. His heart now flutters with jagged edges that cut into his insides forebodingly.

Kyon does not follow him though, opting instead to watch his weary form disappear from his initial position at the terrace.

And he doesn't want him to.

The dull throbbing in his head does not settle for the rest of the day, nor the following evening when he is called to submit a report of the past week related to Suzumiya-san provoked activities. It increases whenever his mind flickers onto the bad-tempered girl, or her chosen one. Even thinking about Asahina-san deepens it.

At one point, he is barely able to stand.

He has no idea, though, why it happens.

It is a little over two days before Suzumiya-san assembles them for another one of her terrific fun inducing escapades. She orders them around, then shouts for no apparent reason.

When they take up the task of wearing that preposterous frog costume, he is forced to wonder why in the World she'd want something like that. However, since she expects him to just smile and nod and follow her without a word, he decides to do exactly that.

Suddenly, Kyon trots up to him and fixes him with a look that sets his stomach on fire. It should be a foreign feeling, he muses, but strangely, it feels usual.

Too normal.

He ignores it, of course, trying his best to not flush, willing his knees to not give way. Instead, he flashes his customary idiotic smile that seems to aggravate the other, and pulls the outfit on hurriedly.

For the rest of the day, he doesn't have to worry about any stares that may be directed in his direction.

The ache, however, does not go away.

It is only after their shift is over, and Suzumiya-san has stopped gloating about how her precious mascot can wear the costume anytime she feels like it, while simultaneously hogging on an ice-candy and bounded outside, that he is left alone with the boy yet another time.

They change in silence, slipping into their respective clothes. He is grateful but irked by the tranquillity at the same time.

Asahina-san and Nagato-san are already gone by the time they emerge out of the room. Suzumiya-san has collected the costume and made it home by now. It doesn't bother him that they'd left without a word of departure, but he'd have been indebted if they had accompanied them, if only he could've avoided walking halfway with the dark-haired boy all alone.

When they, at last, seem to part ways, and he has to deny that he is almost eager for doing so, he is stopped by an arm on his sleeve.

Yet again, the touch seems to smoulder him, and he lashes out.

When he turns, nonetheless, gaze sputtering, the look of impair and pure hatred in the boy's eyes at his cringing is enough to make him freeze on the spot.

"What is your problem?" Kyon bellows back.

He opens his mouth, trying to force out an apology, something, anything. The boy stares at him in annoyance. No, not annoyance, more like... prejudice. He inhales, eyes shut, and tries to speak again, but then he is being punched across the jaw with such brute strength that he stumbles back into an alleyway.

He doesn't collapse, but he feels like doing so.

The sting in his lower lip is immediate, and he doesn't need a mirror to know the bruised bone is swelling up. The pain is so much that, for a moment, the constant buzz in his ears subsides. Tears threaten to spill down his cheeks but he wills them back.

He backs up into a wall, not sure of his footing and afraid the boy might strike again. No, not afraid of the pain, but the idea of his tanned skin meeting his own flesh.

He knows that if it happens again, he'll go insane.

And then it becomes worse.

It feels unreal when he is pushed against that dirty wall, when the back of his head collides with the faded red of those bricks, pinioned so securely that he cannot even push his captor away. It's almost nightmarish as soft lips brush against his own in a ray of fading light.

For a moment, his World stops.

It's the first time his mind has ever turned up a blank, first time he has ever been rendered speechless. A bead of tear trickles down his left eye.

It ends sooner than he can blink.

Kyon pulls backward, tentative, holding his gaze. He stares right back, unblinking, unmoving, their breaths coming out in short puffs that amalgamate in the pensive, searing air.

Nobody seems to be paying them any attention, because nobody has any reason to.

Nobody cares for two teenagers pressed up against one another in some dark corner.

Nobody ever did.

He doesn't move, not a finger, afraid that the feral emotion in those dark orbs will not take kindly to any resistance on his part at this moment, thoughtful that the more he struggled, the uglier it would become. Kyon is shorter, but he somehow seems more lethal, more murderous than even a predator. The boy in front of him is not the usual aloof person who passes him in the school hallways every day. He isn't the one who beats him regularly in those board games.

He knows it.

Because he thinks he's starting to understand.

Exhaling heavily, he closes his eyes, trying to calm his nerves. "I apologize for my rude behaviour," he murmurs, because he feels that is all he can do without his voice cracking.

The other boy doesn't answer, though, and he doesn't expect one, either.

...Because Kyon has never answered at such moments.

The rest of the evening becomes hazy in his memory. He doesn't know what occurs after that, how or when he comes home, or what route he takes, but as soon as his bed is in front of him, he flops into it, tired, dazed, and utterly vulnerable for all he is while wakeful.

The only blatant reminiscence is the bitter-sweet tenderness in his jaw.

The next few days flutter by with effortlessness. Just like before, he doesn't go out of his way to get together with the boy or talk to him, nor overtly pays him any attention save for the occasional gawking he is accustomed to performing, and keeps miles away if Suzumiya-san happens to be around, unless of course something important is to be conveyed or Kyon specifically asks to meet up, which happens so rarely that he cannot help but pretend it never happens at all.

It is the usual, and the ringing never stops.

Suzumiya-san goes about her usual antics, dragging them into the most bizarre of activities that he can gladly let pass for a nap curled up beside the dark-haired boy.

When they visit that meaningless festival, all dolled up in ornate Kimonos, he is morbidly surprised to see that Kyon singles him out and leaves the pretty girls all to themselves. The boy spares the barest of glances to even Asahina-san, then lets the eccentric girl pull her away to scoop goldfish. It is an odd triumph that makes him want to crawl into a hole and starve himself to death.

Though Kyon is subtle in his doting, every time those dark eyes land on him, he cannot help but feel like a scorching ember is massaging sensual patterns against his skin.

It doesn't help that the pain in his head never seems to go away except for when they kiss.

Yet another thing he cannot comprehend.

It does help, however, that Nagato-san is here with them, walking steadily like a machine. Her eyes gaze at everything with no inquisition, as if she has seen these lights and decor a million times previously, and the only times she stops at something is when she sincerely believes she has never laid an eye on it.

Yet it's nowhere sufficient.

She stares everywhere but their way, at everything but them. Even while buying herself a silly mask, she never turns, as if there's an invisible wall keeping her eyes away from the two of them, and though Kyon seems no eager to do anything suspicious, he just wants to get away from the boy.

Even when they light fireworks, that feeling is there.

Like he's supposed to remember something he cannot fathom.

He tries to block it out, tries to instead listen to the banter between Suzumiya-san and her chosen one about fun and homework and god knows what, but the inferno in the pit of his stomach refuses to sink. The slight pain doubles and assaults his cranium mercilessly.

And then it happens.

The slight brushing of their fingers when Kyon makes an excuse that lighting from an already lit firework is faster than using a candle, and when he shifts over to him. The casual way in which that tanned, free hand grips his wrist so he doesn't accidently set the both of them on fire. That heated gaze he fastens him with when he's supposed to be staring at the fizzling cracker between his fingers instead.

All of it, makes his insides burn.

He staggers a little and then crumples to his knees, breathing so heavily that even his chest heaves in momentum. The pain is there, strengthening with every second that passes, and the fire in his stomach helps little with the matter. Pulling at his hair seems like an excellent thought somehow, but then everybody is running towards him and he refrains from acting upon that urge.

Suzumiya-san yells out commands, about how an ambulance is absolutely necessary and why they need to book a bed with a window for fresh air, to which the other boy scowls.

Nagato-san regards him with empty eyes. Asahina-san is patting his head like a kind, caring mother, muttering encouragements that he can certainly do without. Kyon helps him up, his deep brown hair managing to waft around his face in the evening air, being ever so gentle with him as if holding delicate porcelain. Though the touch sets his skin sizzling, he clings to it like an infant.

"Are you alright, Koizumi-kun?" Asahina-san kneels beside him, brows scrunched up in worry.

He manages a smile that is anything but genuine. It comes out more of a grimace, and he is surprised to find that even his body cannot lie all the time. "Not really," he murmurs at last.

"I'll take him home," Kyon announces, and if he has any urge to disregard the benevolence, the dimness in those eyes is enough to fasten his lips.

So as Suzumiya-san scatters amongst her harem of beautiful girls and firecrackers again, the brunette leads him by the arm, walking and supporting him all the way back to his apartment. It is dark and the wind is, for some reason, biting. That is good though. Nobody can witness how he stumbles along the way.

Climbing the staircase seems like death itself.

He slips multiple times, and if it is not for the other boy, his neck would have cracked already. He is ashamed to be reliant on someone like him, of letting Kyon of all people see him this susceptible, this dismal, but he can barely make it a step without assistance.

Leaving Suzumiya-san behind eases his condition, if only a little, but the rising temperature of his body and that awful pain makes him collapse and clutch his head every time he tries to speak.

Finally, he cannot stand it anymore.

When Kyon puts him to bed and turns to leave, his hand shoots out to grab the other's sleeve on its own accord. "Please," he pleads, praying the boy will get what he himself cannot understand.

Kyon halts, turning to regard him. His eyes are curious, but hard and unyielding. It is an emotion that makes him feel queasy, but anything is fine as long as the throbbing in his head gives in. When no retort comes, he risks a hazard and rises on his knees to place a light kiss against the boy's lips, so barely there that even Kyon begins to blink rapidly.

He has to struggle for the boy's attention.

Abruptly, the other snaps out of his reverie, gathering himself and takes a step back. "You should get some rest," Kyon replies in a steely tone.

He doesn't let go, though. "Please," he repeats, in a much softer voice now, almost rasping.

"Koizumi, let - "

It happens in the spur of the moment. Before the other can demand anything else, he pulls and shoves him into the mattress. Their noses almost brushing, he leans in, close, closer, desperate to have that pounding go away at any cost. The dark eyes that stare at him questioningly hold the loathing of a despaired Royal.

"Please," He whispers, his breath coming out in small wisps, knees on either side of the brunette's waist. "Please, forgive me for my rude behaviour."

And when he closes the space between them, soft but frantic, the pain suddenly seems to fade.

At first, the kiss is awkward. Kyon seems reluctant to let him in, clamping his mouth shut, but gradually, he loosens up. However, he still does not gain the permission to enter. Instead the other's tongue pushes past his lips and pillages his mouth, going over each curve and crevice, harsh, indolent. He does not mind, though, because now the pain is barely decipherable.

Little by little, it is losing colour, and at long last, dead.

Amidst the haze, his limbs lose their strength. He doesn't realize when he is flipped around, or when Kyon moves and is on top of him, pushing in closer, closer than humanly possible, crushing their bodies together as if every place they touch and stroke brings him some macabre sort of pleasure.

Every bite and every shudder seems to hearten him further.

It's like an itch in the deepest part of his heart being scoured again. The ferocity and urgency with which Kyon responds, with which Kyon reviles him, those lips and teeth and tongue, those strong fingers in his hair, and despite the abhorrence and revulsion the other's soul reveals, it feels blissful, divine, utterly euphoric.

And torment at the same time.

He never thought such a simple contact between two people could feel this complex.

Vaguely, he is aware of his kimono being pulled open, of cool hands slipping in and kneading his feverish, tensed up muscles underneath. A chill runs down his spine despite the heat their bodies conjure. The searing blood beneath his skin rushes everywhere and roars in his ears.

Kyon pulls back and shrugs out of his clothes. The tan of the boy's skin contrasts beautifully against his own lighter one, revealing a mosaic that appears to glow in the moonlight.

Panting and bruised, his mouth is being harassed again. Their legs entangle delectably, fingers entwining with a familiar weave he cannot recollect ever practicing. The flames in his stomach overwhelm him wholly. His jaw hurts with the constant abuse the other unleashes onto his lips, kissing, sucking, nipping, moving continuously and persistently with wanton abandon, like a parched crow having at his own pot of fresh, saccharine water.

That is when things become uncomfortable.

Suddenly, he is conscious of the agony that crashes in with the heat. The throbbing returns and intensifies, though this time it is a woe that seizes his chest instead, blinding him and rendering him incapable of speech. Every point those fingers trace sizzles with malice. It's like some invisible entity has latched onto Kyon and is eating up his soul from the inside.

"...Stop," he mutters in between kisses, trying to move his head away lackadaisically, "Kyon, stop. Stop."

Kyon cannot hear, or perhaps just doesn't want to hear, for he presses in closer, domineering, ruthless, breathing in the last of his energy with a hunger that shouldn't exist in humans. His hands travel lower, leaving blistering trails of fire across his skin.

Finally, it becomes unbearable.

Mustering a final burst of strength, violently, he shoves the boy away.

The push is enough to overthrow the brunette. With a startled gasp Kyon stumbles to the edge of the bed, barely missing toppling off of it, yet he cannot help to care, because the action puts the much needed distance between them. It is almost relieving to see him as a disarray of haphazard limbs. The pain lightens for a moment, and even the blaze within him seems to smother.

Everything is silent, except for their irregular breathing.

Then the boy gathers himself up and settles into a much stable perch, legs folded. Those eyes are overflowing with such loathing that they looks ready to tear everything apart.

"I told you to stop," he argues feebly, trying to justify himself.

The arctic gaze doesn't waver, and he has to keep himself from recoiling under its scrutiny.

"What do you want, Koizumi?"

The words are clear and cut into him instantly. That is how Kyon is, blunt and uncomplicated, something that he has envied the boy a long time for. It is not him being normal, or being Suzumiya-san's chosen one that ignites the jealousy, but that he is free to act on his own.

What does he want?

...Such a seemingly simple and clear-cut inquiry, yet one without an ideal answer.

His hand goes to his heart, trying to pull up the Kimono edges to cover his bare chest. Despite the darkness, he can feel the other's stare boring into his winded form.

"I... I don't... I don't know." He realizes he's stammering. For some reason, the words don't come out. "Su – Suzumiya-san, she..."

And there it is. That treacherous look, that scorching glare replaced by barrenness, that furrow lightening, those dark eyes growing dimmer by the second until there's no trace of spite or hatred or umbrage left.

No trace of emotion left.

Somehow, witnessing this is more agonizing than a dagger through his heart.

Slowly and steadily, like a machine at work, the form across the bed moves, and standing, picks up the discarded Kimono. "And here I thought you had no sense of loyalty," the boy says, shaking his head as if regarding a kicked puppy. The voice coming out of his mouth is also mechanical.

After a stretch of silence disturbed only by the ruffling of fabric, Kyon disappears out the door, shutting it behind him with a soft click.

That night, he curls up in his sheets and has no sleep.

The pain alters back to his head.

Days pass, and as he expects, Kyon never shows up for any friendly visits or serious conversations. No close spaces appear either. His body does not seize with that odd heated sensation, and his heart remains free of that constricting feeling. It is almost peaceful. But the calm doesn't alleviate his worries. If anything, it just makes the dull throbbing seem cumbersome.

So uneventful, so boring, merely laying around the empty apartment, watching dreary television shows, carrying out perverse amounts of Godforsaken homework, submitting multiple reports, and sitting out all those wearying meetings while gulping down tasteless cups of tea one after another... Just when he thinks he's going to crack with the tedium, Suzumiya-san calls them with a bid to visit the beach.

Because she wants an empty shore for just the SOS Brigade, he is happy to be dialling the Agency again and connecting with Tsuruya-san for a suitable location.

He thinks it is better that remaining idle.

Predicaments arise when Kyon arrives an entire hour early, beating both himself and Asahina-san by ten minutes.

He watches the boy thank Nagato-san about informing him of the trip early on, a genuine sense of verve hovering over his mannerisms. The good mood is enough to send him back, retracing his step out of the station before the two of them can notice him approaching. Even with the pale girl there, he cannot bear being close to Kyon anymore.

Minutes later, when Asahina-san appears and asks him to come and wait with the rest of them, he claims to be thirsty and hurries over to the Cola machine.

It is only when the Brigade Chief shows up, unusually cheerful, that he joins the little group with another one of his fake pretty smiles. Suzumiya-san pats him with her brutish strength, knocking the wind out of him as she compliments and congratulates him on his excellent work with the site. If he had a tail, he thinks it'll be wagging at this instance.

Though Kyon pretends he doesn't exist for most of the way, the scowls whenever Suzumiya-san or the Time Traveller interacts with him are enough to tell him otherwise.

The ache still continues to prey on his sanity.

The rest of the day becomes a blur of sea water, corals and warmth. At one point, Suzumiya-san assembles the girls and buries Kyon neck deep into the sand. It is beyond amusing when she refuses to dig him out until he agrees to pay for their meals on the way back home.

"What about homework, Haruhi?" The boy demands sometime, panting on the white sand which accentuates his deepening tan.

"What? That again?"

When the words reach his ears, that feeling returns, like whatever is wrong around them could be corrected right then, that he just has to think back and remember what is wrong to begin with. But the more he tries to concentrate, the more his head throbs.

It is tempting to just walk into the water, and let the waves wash him away, but that, he knows, is not an option. He has to exist for his supposed God.

To avoid reiterating the scene that ensued their previous gathering, he slowly picks himself up and lurches towards the woods. It is good that nobody seems to be paying him attention. It makes disappearing amidst the greenery that much easier. He walks for some time, and when he feels he's fairly away from the rest of the Brigade, he collapses against a tree.

Time flows by, but he stays there, trying to make the pain slither away.

It is only when he hears soft thudding, like footsteps across sand, that he squints through half-lidded eyes, barely managing to make out the silhouette walking towards him in the blazing sun.

"I don't get why you're always running off by yourself," Kyon's baritone floats into recognition.

It's not his fault that he starts at the voice, almost jumping to his feet. The sudden movement, however, causes his head to swim in a hundred different directions at the same instance.

He manages a smile, as convincing as possible. "I wanted some fresh air."

"Koizumi, that's the most clichéd dialogue in the history of mankind."

"Ah, it's an Esper thing."

Kyon raises an eyebrow, but chooses not to comment. Instead, he falls down next to him, though there is that invisible periphery between their half-naked bodies that is not to be crossed, as if his need for personal space is being respected without seeming overly subtle. It makes him feel elated for some reason.

His jubilation, however, subsides as those eyes are back on his exposed form.

The pain grows ever so palpable.

As if the sun overhead isn't glaring enough, Kyon's gaze burns holes into his skin wherever it touches. Suddenly, his limbs are shaking. It's as if he is engulfed by some vicious heated chill of the summer. The scent of flowers becomes heady. Trees begin to spiral into a pandemonium of green and red and yellow.

His condition is becoming worse. Perhaps he should contact the Agency and get some treatment when he gets home.

That will be hours from now, though, because Suzumiya-san will not be disbanding them anytime soon. She still wants to collect sea shells and chomp on the watermelons they smash. She has been waiting for a quiet night chasing ghosts in these very woods. Despite his state, he doesn't want to ruin her expectations.

So he does what he feels is the next best thing.

He pulls himself to his feet, cautious, fraught to get away from the other boy, but his head scatters into a million pieces again, colours swimming and merging together in his vision, and he has to lean onto the tree to keep his skull from colliding against the rocks around his legs.

The agony is so fresh and real this time that he buries his face in his arms.

For all his charades of keeping his distance, Kyon is pulling him up by the arm without a second thought. He is like that, doing as he wishes.

He doesn't understand why he knows it.

"There you go again. Damned Esper," the boy swears under his breath.

He wants to bat him away, but cannot find the strength to.

"Kyon," he mumbles instead, a hand massaging his forehead, "I think you should return to Suzumiya-san and the others."

The brunette, however, does not back away. If anything, he leans in closer, so close that their breaths ghost against the other's cheeks. He stares in those dark eyes, and for once, they're bereft of that weathered loathing, instead, overwhelmed by a sonata of dozen other emotions. "There's something odd about you right now," Kyon says circumspectly.

Now he tries to loosen the grip on his wrist, but with no avail.

"Everything is fine," he murmurs, looking away, which makes him almost faint, but the relief in his temperature is almost worth it.

Kyon ignores him. "There," the words ghost against his ear, "I see it."

His wrist is pulled up, making the rest of his body turn to regard the other. There's little space to even let out a breath. The other boy is so close, staring at him from under his lashes, eyes half-lidded. Still, the fingers around his limb are smouldering. He is sure of the blatant flush staining his own features.

"Kyon, please..."

"I see it now," Kyon murmurs, and as always, does as he pleases.

But this time, when the brunette connects their lips, the touch is soft. It's nothing like the previous instances where there is always a sense of urgency, always the aggression, yet there is a morbid familiarity about how his mouth stirs against his own. The bark of the tree he's pinned to incises into his bare back. He's suddenly aware of every single grain of sand under his feet. For some reason, even with the shattering of his sanity, the kiss feels blissful.

His resistance melts into it. The only thing he's aware of is the blood roaring in his ears, ousting the agony in his head.

Momentarily, he's as at peace as he can ever be.

After a few seconds, Kyon leans back, effectively breaking the lip lock. Vaguely, he notices they are hardly touching beyond the fingers on his wrist. He is both relieved and disappointed. However, the brief moment of intimacy has easily overthrown his nausea.

"You looked like you needed it," the boy utters without any allusion of spite.

He doesn't know why, though he thinks he's supposed to remember it, he cannot bring himself to contradict that statement.

The following night, as Suzumiya-san and her duo of girls roam around the forest, he smiles to himself, pressed against the side of a stonewall, breathless, imagining what is made of their sudden disappearance from the ghost-hunting expedition.

Kyon remains the same over the days that come; snarky and easily annoyed.

He snaps at the sudden invasion of personal spaces, and yawns through hours of philosophical ramblings. He nods and pries on Nagato-san. He stares at Asahina-san running around in those unreasonable garments.

Yet he does not ignore his sickness.

Although the boy does keep in mind that anything beyond small kisses and licks is unacceptable, that he is to be treated as innocently as possible. Even the slight brushing of fingers makes him jump, makes his heart swell with a different agony altogether, and so Kyon keeps his distance unless that excruciating ache in his cranium becomes unbearable, or he himself is the one invading space bubbles.

His condition worsens despite the Agency's best efforts.

Every time he breaks down, trying desperately to suppress the urge to scream, pulling at his hair and biting his lower lip until it draws blood, Kyon is there. A phone call or a pleading look and the brunette draws him into isolation, pushing him against a wall or on the couch or that cold stretch of asphalt. He is never violent, never insistent or authoritative, but then he never was to begin with. It is rarely that he loses his calm.

Still, they remain miles away from the bed.

He thinks the boy understands that it is simply a medication; one that becomes fatal in case of an overdose.

Or perhaps he too realises the unvoiced consequences.

Other than that, everything is quiet and routine. Such calm that anyone might be tempted to shatter it. A morbid thought, he muses. He doesn't know why, but there's something deep within him, something that keeps expecting it to end, that keeps waiting for a satisfying conclusion.

When it happens, he is brought back to reality.

It is only a call from Asahina-san, but the Time Traveller actually dialling him for assistance sets off all his mental alarms. She doesn't tell him what the matter is, or where to meet, but he somehow already knows. This is not something he can afford ignoring.

The throbbing in his skull is vague, but as he approaches the other two anomalous members of the Brigade, it matures twelvefold.

Suddenly, those odd déjà vu moments seem to make sense.

The recognition in Nagato-san's eyes as she regards everything that summer makes sense.

The familiarity with which they touch makes sense.

As realization dawns upon his weary frame, his anguish is beyond helping. He is vaguely aware of the petite girl sobbing as Nagato-san recites digits after digits. Waves of nausea threaten to sweep him down, making the world before him appear obscured. Instinctively, his hand reaches for his cell phone, though it is for the good of the World or for himself, he cannot dare answering.

Explaining things over the line becomes impossible. Every time he tries to swallow, there's a bitter taste in his mouth that makes him want to throw up.

How could he have ignored that feeling?

How could he have been so clueless?

He is almost thankful that Asahina-san takes the initiative of talking on the phone.

Even Kyon seems to have been catching up on things, because he is there within half an hour, sweating and panting like a dog.

He is tempted to just run towards the boy and demand to be led away from all this mayhem, from this brutal realism, screaming that it hurt, that it hurt so much that he can jump over a cliff without another thought, but only to realize that it didn't anymore. Somehow, the shrill ringing in his head is no longer audible.

With horror, he realises that it's gone.

And, for the first time, he's understanding it perfectly.

So with his usual charisma, he goes on to explain the situation to a hyperventilating Kyon instead, who stares at him as if he has grown two heads. It isn't until Nagato-san intervenes that the boy truly begins to believe him.

Nobody, however, seems to come up with a solution.

When they are dispersing, he is stopped by a tug at his shirt. As he looks over his shoulder, dark eyes are questioning him with contempt, and he has the sudden urge to scramble away from them.

"What about your... condition?"

He pulls away from the iron grip, smiling. "It's only an illness, Kyon," he replies matter-of-factly while waving an unnecessary hand and tries his best to not choke up with the mere power it takes to sound that cheerful, "All illnesses come to an end."

With that, he turns and hurries home.

This time too, Kyon doesn't follow.

Though he wishes he would.

Every day after that, he spends his time mulling over what Suzumiya-san wants, what they can do to stop this endless cycle of summer holidays. He goes over all the possibilities in his mind. And of course, he waits calmly, almost fondly, for that pain to return.

Return with such force that it renders him senseless.

But sadly enough, it never does.

When the Brigade Chief arranges for a 'Beetle Capturing' event, he again expects that headache to crash land with full force, only to be disappointed. It doesn't help that Kyon keeps shooting him odd glances every now and then. It makes his body tingle with a perverse heat. He is almost tempted to run into the woods and never come in contact with another soul for the rest of his life, but Suzumiya-san chirping merrily at his side makes him reconsider his options.

What does she want?

Nobody knows.

There's always that hesitant vibe around her, though, like she wants somebody to say something, to convince her of something. It is frustrating that she doesn't outright say it. Suzumiya-san, after all, is anything but subtle.

Then there is the other boy, who keeps regarding him with those horrible dark eyes. What goes on in his mind appears as much a mystery.

Even Closed Spaces don't do him the favour of visiting.

It isn't until the oddball of a girl drags them atop some building, claiming that star-gazing was in fashion, going on to explain how such an activity could also help them arrest Aliens and what not, that he finally has enough of this new feeling.

Or the lack of feeling, thereof.

Kyon, though, seems to be more interested in Esper-gazing.

It makes him lurch with a burning sensation for some reason, a fire reigniting in his lower regions, as if he's swallowed chillies of the mightiest kind found on the face of this earth and gulped down glasses of hot sauce to accompany the illogical meal.

He works up the courage, regardless, and jokes about how the boy should confess his love for Suzumiya-san. Only that he's half joking.

Kyon pushes him away with a sour look.

Finally, the girls are asleep save for the Humanoid Interface, who keeps staring through the telescope as if expecting to catch a glimpse of a friend or family member in the Milky Way Galaxy. She doesn't pay anything attention, and she moves the instrument with the expertise of a professional. Obviously, he knows she has done this over and over again the past few cycles, so it's not that surprising or impressive at all.

"Your 'illness' seems to be coming along well," Kyon catches him off-guard with the query.

He inhales. "It is strange, but I think the only reason why it ever struck me was because of this repetitive cycle of holidays," he replies, trying not to sound too shaky or breathy, "Perhaps my mind was trying to tell me that something was wrong, but I kept ignoring it. Perhaps an inner feeling was all that illness was. Yes, that sounds like an excellent explanation."

"You mean an excellent _excuse_."

He blinks, taken aback, then that heat makes it impossible to retort without sounding odd. "It's cured now," he breathes after an excruciating instant.

"Hmm, with heavy breathing and a red face? Doesn't seem that way to me." Dark eyes hold his gaze for a moment. "I'll be damned if you don't have a fever running right this second." With that, the boy moves closer and casually places the back of a cold palm against his forehead.

The simple touch makes him jerk away ferociously.

This time, though, he doesn't commit the mistake of looking into those hideous eyes, keeping his head low and turning away from that scalding gaze. He is aware of the hatred and anger that it radiates, but he has never before wanted to deny its existence so badly.

"I'm afraid I have a meeting to attend to in the morning," he mutters breathlessly. "I should be getting back now."

"Koizumi -"

"Please make sure Suzumiya-san reaches home safely."

And Kyon doesn't answer back.

His mind is numb as he calls the cab, making sure to be brisk in his movements. Arakawa-san keeps glancing at him through the rear view mirror, but he's too tired and shaking to tell him to stop it and so just stares out his window without a blink.

It isn't until his trembling body has given way to drowsiness that the bell to his apartment rings. Its sound is so ominous that for a moment, his breathing ceases involuntarily.

He attends to the intruder, horrified the instant his eyes rest on that weary frame.

"... Kyon?"

"Well, I'm glad you seem to be on recognizing terms at least."

His body grows uncomfortably clammy all of a sudden. "The streets aren't safe for a high school student at this late hour. What brings you here?"

"You talk like you're an old man worrying over his daughter." The temperature in his cheeks reaches a never-before attained pinnacle at the sight of the smirking brunette. "Are you going to let me in anytime soon?"

He wants to slam the door back in the boy's face, but resists himself and exhales. Being immature will accomplish little with things as they are now. Kyon is not the one to step back so easily. Even with the pain gone, he muses, anxiety never leaves him alone.

Moving away, he almost passes out due to the cinder gaze the other fixes him with, and hurries to the kitchen area to escape the turmoil.

"Where is Suzumiya-san?" He questions while setting tea.

"Home." The other takes a sip from his cup. "She got pissed off when I woke her up and dragged Asahina-san to God knows where." The look he portrays must be priceless because Kyon smiles a little, shaking his head. "Don't worry. Nagato is with them."

What conversations are carried out for the next hour or so, he cannot remember, but it feels pleasant and gloomy at the same time.

And odd, for some reason.

"Hmm... Wasn't your table on the other side last time?"

The nonchalant remark makes him blink. "It hasn't moved an inch since the first day of vacation."

"Yeah, you're right."

"Perhaps it was moved to that place in some other previous cycle," he mulls over the thought, trying a hand at decent conversations that might ward off this tension. However, the statement just makes him further uncomfortable.

"May be."

Finding nothing better to talk about, they silently revert their attention back to their respective cups.

It is almost paradise when Kyon grunts out a 'Good night'.

He is eager to push him out of the door. But then the boy halts, and turns to him, eyes boring into his trembling frame. He hesitates, and Kyon leans forward.

Abruptly, on a reflex, he moves back.

Kyon seems surprised, because those ghastly eyes are wide with perplexity. He does not explain though, and mouths a quiet pleasantry, leaving the boy no choice but to be on his way out.

He shuts the door behind the other, moving slowly, almost lethargically, towards his bed, but somehow he cannot bring himself to sleep on it. The study stares at him morbidly. He chooses to crash into one of the couches instead, and is out like a light within moments.

The pain never reappears.

At long last, it is the final day of the vacation.

They sit in the cafe, silent and with no cheer whatsoever. Suzumiya-san is talking in her usual vigour, still not giving them any idea about what she could possibly want. He is almost tempted to slap the answer out of her. Asahina-san is trying hard not to tear up, while Nagato-san continues to stare at the far wall impassively.

Kyon though, seems to be in a sultry mood, for he sighs and grumbles every other second.

And when the eccentric girl concludes the meet and proceeds out of the cafe, her retreating back getting farther by the second, he has that déjà vu feeling again, only this time, it is so strong that he finds it strange he hasn't fainted already.

The other boy rises, too, hesitant, seeming to weigh his choices mentally.

But clueless to the solution, his rising form makes little difference.

In the end, nothing changes, and they, a mismatched group of teenagers; a quiet Extra-terrestrial, a timid Time-traveller, an ordinary Human and he... watch helplessly as his Almighty disappears from their sight.

It feels like something has just ended, but he knows it's only a beginning. By tomorrow, things will go back to the way they were...

Will Suzumiya-san still strive for that something she couldn't find in this cycle?

Will Nagato-san continue watching from a corner while they went around in never ending circles another sixteen thousand times?

Will Asahina-san remain unable to travel further into the past or future?

And Kyon... Will he be the same in another lifetime?

This tumult, these anxieties, this undying scorch that sets his body ablaze every time they talk or touch... if nothing good will be thrown at him in the future, he thinks it'll be better to forget their burden.

Meaningless things never are worth an Esper's time.

That is why he doesn't wait for the others to clear out one by one, leaving the trio to their own devices and good byes. It is somehow amusing to see them talk amongst themselves quietly. They sit there, as if mourning the loss of a dearest friend. At last, Asahina-san lets the tears flow, and Kyon is there trying to console her.

Finally, he finds a reason to excuse himself.

He sprints outside, blathering something about a meeting and a closed space, he cannot care to specify though. He can hear someone calling his name, but he makes no effort to let them know that he heard.

Why should he be sitting with them anyway?

It isn't like the world is going to actually end. In fact, it will be a rebirth of sorts.

He will go to his apartment, sleep it off, and then all of them will be there the next day with that riot of a girl yelling at their sorry faces. He'll be there, and _he_ will be there too. Probably with no memories of this cycle, and probably clueless or sick of those déjà vu moments, but they'll be there, alive, fine.

They'll be smiling.

Genuinely.

And perhaps it'll happen again...

But that is just wishful thinking, one that will never grace him by holding substance. With an audible sigh, frustrated or otherwise, he knows not, he trips on the third stair to his apartment.

He groans and mutters something distinctly offending.

"Whoa. Never thought I'd hear you curse of all people," Kyon's unmistakable baritone echoes around the staircase. "At least now I can be sure you're human."

Why or how the boy has the audacity to follow him yet again, he doesn't even want to unearth the reasons for. He doesn't know why, but all of a sudden, he finds himself climbing at a quicker pace, not even allowing a glance to be spared at the other. The more distance he puts between them, he thinks, the better.

Unfortunately, his God has never graced him with peace.

"Hey," Kyon catches hold of his collar and tries to drag him back. "This is tiring and stupid, so I'll say it straight; Quit running away!"

"Let go of me, please."

Kyon doesn't listen, but he manages to slip out of his jacket and escapes into the sanction of his apartment. The door clicks shut barely a moment before there is banging on the other side. It looks ready to explode, and he wishes those splinters would pierce his heart and end that insurmountable agony once and for all.

"Koizumi, open up!"

He leans on the door, his back to it and slides down. "Please go."

"I haven't come all the way here to just turn around and leave things as they are!" Kyon yells from the other side, a fist colliding with the wood. "It's almost over. Do you want it to end just like that? I'm sorry but I can't just sit back and let it disappear right before my eyes!"

"Don't make things any more complicated, Kyon."

"Open the door right this second!"

"This is not how things are supposed to be, Kyon," he sighs, feeling the burden of defeat already burying him alive, "Suzumiya-san deserves a happy ending."

"And don't you?"

His own voice grows quiet. "I cannot."

The banging on the door ceases, and he can only hear the sharp intake of a breath. It amuses him that it has come to this; that he even lacks the strength to stand on his own resolve. Since when did he start neglecting his obligations? Since when did the World start mattering less to him?

Had he always been this influential?

"Haruhi is important, I know," the other murmurs, almost begrudgingly. "The world, the Agency, I understand how much these things matter to you, Koizumi. But just for today, just for a few hours... please, forget them. Don't think about them for even a second. I'm begging you to."

'Forget them'... it's easy to say it, but actually adopting it into his lifestyle, even for a night...

The evening is too quiet for his comfort.

"Koizumi, let me in."

Kyon's voice is too mournful, too drained.

He knows what he means, what he wants. He's always known. Even with his chest convulsing with fresh stabs of pain, even with his temperature rising to an impossible summit, even with the last of his reason splintering into a million glittering drops of crimson, he doesn't understand why his hand rises involuntarily and unlocks the door.

A gust of cold air overwhelms his body, and he has to fight off the shudders.

Not wasting even a single second, the familiar clacks of the boy's shoes resonate in the dead of that calm, letting the offending piece of wood slide back in place ominously.

If he expects the brunette to apologize or feel grateful, he is disappointed.

The moment those strong arms wrap around him, when that tensed up body presses against his back through the light fabric, however, he almost wants to laugh. His jacket falls to the floor with a vague 'thump'. Those cold hands slip under his button up, exploring the feverish expanse of his pallid skin gingerly.

It starts with feathery contact of those lips against his neck, making his body tingle, but soon it matures into something that has him quivering and whimpering instead.

"Please don't," he murmurs.

Kyon rests his chin on his right shoulder, sounding guttural. "Even if it disgusts you, Koizumi, for once..."

Sometimes, he thinks, letting things fall apart is much easier than trying to hold them together.

The night is cold despite the summer, and for some reason, the hours of darkness seem to pass away too quickly. Kyon doesn't appear to be holding back anymore, for he sinks his teeth into that blasphemous expanse of skin whenever an opportunity can be seized. The study, or the bed, things become so hazy that he cannot keep track of what happens after what.

His body never escapes that odd warmth, though, and instead heats up even more wherever the other touches. His heart flutters like a vulture has been caged inside it. He sweats, and he doesn't understand why.

Are those hands under his button-up? Was that a kiss on his neckline?

Breathless gasps and redundant whimpers turn to pleasured moans, and even if he wants to bite his lip to keep from reacting to it, Kyon seems reckless in his approach.

It's as if he has turned into a gruesome form of himself, tearing into his pale flesh like some blood-thirsty monster.

The boy is not himself anymore.

It pains, he admits; more so psychologically than physically, with Kyon digging his fingers into his sides, pinning him to the soft mattress that refuses to lull him to sleep.

He wants to lash out. He wants to scream for the other to stop. But those wild thrusts make him dizzy, canopying the line disentangling heaven and hell beyond his perception. He laments and moans, hushed, but despaired, and his entire being feels like somebody is tearing it to shreds.

Perhaps he has finally lost it.

Kyon seals their lips into another appalling ballet of tongues, and he thinks there is no other torture as gorgeous as this.

Cold fingers roam his heaving chest, trailing to entwine with his own. A part of him wants to pull the boy closer, to wrap his arms around that panting body rather than merely laying back like a rag doll used as per one's convenience, but almost instantly he drops the thought. He wants to stop the boy, he reminds himself, but his body never reacts to the demand.

It only answers the one above him.

But then again, even if Kyon is being forceful about it, even if he is genuine in his ministrations, there is always the prospect of him recoiling and never being anything again.

Perhaps, if he as much as twitched, the boy _would_ stop.

So he rests there, despite the emptiness, the worthlessness of all of this, despite the malevolence of an impending disaster, despite the misery of his own mind, holding back the gasps and groans as preeminent as he can, taking it all silently.

Because that is all he has ever done.

When Kyon strikes that bundle of nerves within him and makes him jerk violently, he clenches his fists into the crumpled, snowy whiteness of the sheets. When the boy reaches his summit and spills, making his insides ache with a raw heat, he bites his tongue. He resolves to not make a sound, and this aggravates the other further into the act. Even when he is forced to go through the same ordeal again and again, until his body is bruised and battered, and his muscles seemingly disintegrating and his limbs are falling apart, he lies there silently in the retiring daylight, not agreeable, but neither defiant.

It feels too tragic to be true, and yet he cannot help but wish.

When tomorrow comes, he muses, and when the sun rises to drape another dazzling day onto their recurring stream of lives, even though it feels like a nightmare right now, and even though his mind screams recalcitrance to the other's kisses and thrusts and strokes, he thinks he will find some amity for once.

And that he will like to cling to it for all of eternity.

If only…

What Suzumiya-san wants, nobody knows.

But what he wants might be something worth knowing...

"Kyon?" he calls, so timid and unsettled that it sounds like a different person altogether, "Am I allowed to say something now?"

When everything is over, and they lie in a sultry heap of bodies, the other scooting so far away that he seems almost off of the bed, perhaps mortified, perhaps merely aghast of his prior conduct, Kyon grunts an affirmative that hangs heavily in the air. He waits for the boy to turn and face him, but that never happens.

"Thank you," he whispers after a long stretch of silence.

"I forced you, Koizumi. Remember?"

He gives a lazy smile, unseen to the other, but it comes out too much sincere than he intends it to be. It also feels morose at the same time.

"I won't after a few hours," he replies, trying to sound cheerful, nonetheless.

Silence has become a luxury as of now. Kyon's snores echo in the dead of the night, and his tanned chest rises and falls in a horrid lullaby. Even his exposed back, now flaunting a beautiful criss-cross of scratch marks, feels like a distant aide memoire.

But he is content to finally understand.

He smiles, shattering. "It wasn't such a good idea to have fallen for you after all, was it?"

Kyon doesn't respond.

He knows he will not, yet wishes he would.

And when he wakes up with that vague pounding in his head the next morning, feeling anxious and weary and with a rawness gnawing at his throat it seems, he searches the other side of the bed for something, perhaps even _someone_ that he cannot recollect.

He is supposed to remember, he believes.

But he doesn't understand why.

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Author's Note:

So, what say, fellow readers and writers?

A little too long, don't you feel?

Hopefully, Koizumi doesn't sound too girl-y here, but even if he does, lets recall how much ambiguously gay he is recognized to act as, so there; not so OOC anymore, is he?

And, well, about Kyon turning into a hungry rapist of sorts (even if it is a highly subdued one (~_~)/ )… that seriously shocked Sayloni too! He wasn't supposed to turn out all despairing and needy and then forcing the poor boy into it at length! She almost choked and spilled her worked-too-hard-to-prepare lemonade!

Bad Kyon! You should be ashamed of yourself!

...Hmm.

But considering Sayloni made you do it, perhaps she should be the one to crawl into a hole somewhere and starve herself to death… he he. Beg for mercy?

Anyway, Koizumi doesn't seem to be bothered by it in the end, so never mind.

Though he does sound like an eternally tortured soul, what with the head ache, the heart ache, the constant advances by Kyon, the feeling that he is supposed to remember something, then the déjà vu, and then the confusion and hypocrisy and stuff… perhaps Sayloni is a sadist by nature, eh?

Ah, she never knew how twisted she was.

It's satisfying that he seems to care about Suzumiya-san, though, not only by a she-is-my-God standard at that, and that being near Kyon makes him intensely unsettled. He admires and respects Nagato-san, but Asahina-san does not come out as his favourite… hmm, a nice try, won't you say?

Even if your answer is a no, Sayloni is going to pat herself anyway.

Do review if you want to do it instead, and don't forget to provide your criticism (constructive or otherwise, Sayloni doesn't mind) on this piece of work. It helps to improve her writing skills immensely. Sounds cliché and all, but it is really, actually true.

Also, it is food to the muse in her.

Requests, as always, are welcome.

So RR.

(^_^)/ Arigatou!


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